Hell-Bent
by PsychLockMutant
Summary: Dean is in Hell, already off the rack. Sam is determined to get him out, no matter the cost. I suck at summaries. Please do not judge this story based on this little box. :)
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hey everyone! This is my first Supernatural story so be gentle! I will also post this to my tumblr account afangirlrambles. Sorry if this first chapter is a little boring, but it'll get more exciting later I promise. :) Italics indicate Dean's thoughts. There was only one POV in this chapter but there will probably be a couple later on. I'll make sure to clearly show the switch between characters.**

 **Disclaimer: Supernatural is obviously not mine. I think everyone is very happy it's not.**

Dean nearly retched all over the floor as he pushed his knife deep into some woman's side. He never liked to think about who he was "working on". Dissociation from his actions was key to getting through it. He told himself that better men would have caved earlier, he tried to tell himself that nobody would blame him. Dean also knew that he was an excellent liar.

The little red light on the wall of his room turned green. Dean quickly took the knife out and took the black sack off the woman's head. (It helped with the dissociation.) She was crying and in so much pain she couldn't even make a sound. Dean took a shaky breath, trying to compose his own emotions, before kneeling down to rack-height.

"Shhh, shhh, sweetheart. It'll be okay. I'm so sorry," Dean whispered. He gently placed his hand on her forehead. She flinched away from him so hard, her head smacked the rack. Dean winced and grabbed some of the gauze and antiseptic from the table next to his right.

Dean had never understood why they were allowed to fix up their subjects after a session. Usually Alastair would have made them whole again in less than a second, but even Hell has budget cuts and labor problems. It was why Alastair had given him the choice in the first place. Hunters were getting smarter, which meant demons were getting slaughtered by the dozens on a monthly basis. Not enough for panic to set in, but enough for demons to start turning to humans as torturers.

It was a 9AM-7PM shift, if time really existed in Hell. A line formed outside his door, and Dean was expected to get creative with his knife until that little light turned green. Then, he had five minutes with whomever was on the rack to patch them up or sometimes just talk until a new victim came into the room.

"There you go. Just breathe. Shhh." Dean had patched the woman up and was just about to make small talk ( _what am I supposed to talk about in here?_ ) before the door buzzed open and a little boy with black eyes came into the room. The kid snapped his fingers and he disappeared with the woman. This signaled the end of Dean's shift, but he was still forced to stay in the tiny room. _Sam and I stayed in hotel rooms three times this size._

Sam was really the only thing that got him through the endless days. 32 years in Hell. 2 years off the rack. It broke his damn heart each and every time he raised the blade. But he just couldn't do it anymore. There's only so much pain one man can take, and Dean had taken it all. Alastair had torn him to pieces day in, day out. He tried so hard to focus on Sam, to focus on the days when he was in one piece and only had to worry about finding John.

Some pain you just can't ignore.

Dean lay down on the tiny cot, pressed up against the wall on the far side of the room. He put his hands behind his head and stared at the ceiling, tears streaming down his face. He missed Sam, Bobby, hell he even missed the job. But deep down, in his soul, Dean knew that it would hurt so much more if Sam had stayed dead. That kid was his whole world, even if he would never admit it to Sam's face.

Exhaustion took over and Dean fell asleep to the sounds of screaming and the smell of blood.

 **Let me know what you guys think so far! R & R please! **


	2. Chapter 2

**PART 2**

Day after day, soul after soul. Dean could barely remember what his old life was like. It was a little strange to think that he was ever anywhere else but his cell.

He could remember Sam though. He'd always remember Sam.

The door to his room opened and Dean sighed. He looked up and saw a demon tying an old man to the rack. The door closed and the light turned red. Dean picked up his knife.

Month after month, year after year. Earth was fading from his memory fast. He knew it was only a matter of time before everything was gone. _Well, not everything,_ Dean thought. It became a kind of game for him. Imagining what Sam was doing, where he was. He hoped the kid had landed on his feet okay. Bobby would have made sure of that.

Nothing ever changed down here. Not the sounds or the smells or anything really. The days blended together and Dean's actions became increasingly robotic and mechanical. Like some really messed up version of Groundhog Day. _I'd like to see Bill Murray's ass survive ten minutes down here._

His day started like any other. Start cutting, little green light, repeat. About five souls in, Dean's brain probably wasn't even registering what his hands were doing anymore. It had all become so natural. Had he cared to think about it, Dean would have been horrified at that.

His ears perked up. ( _And I thought Sam was part golden retriever._ ) Something felt off. Nothing ever changed so what was different about right now.

Footsteps in the hall outside. That wasn't new though. Hell was a busy place after all. It took a moment for Dean to realize that whoever was outside was running. Fast.

Now that was new.

The red light switched to green, and Dean started cleaning the young guy in front of him. He was mainly focused, however, on the noises outside. Someone was shouting and he thought he could make out the sounds of bone hitting bone. Dean flinched a little when the door buzzed open. A demon took away the man on the rack and brought in a new victim for Dean.

Dean tried to get a look at whatever was happening out in the hall, but no one ran past and whatever scuffle was occurring was too far down the hall for him to see. The door shut and Dean turned toward the girl now strapped to his rack.

The sounds were only getting louder and louder, and Dean didn't know whether to be worried or excited. If something was beating up demons and sending the whole damn Underworld into a panic, then it seemed likely that Dean was probably on its side.

On the other hand, the enemy of his enemy hadn't always turned out to be a friend in Dean's experience. Maybe he'd rather not meet whatever this was.

As soon as the noises started they stopped. Dean found himself holding his breath, waiting for the sounds to come back but they never did.

He was about halfway into his little "session" with the girl, when the light turned green. Dean stiffened. _I wasn't even close to being done._

Before his brain could process what was happening, Alastair was charging into Dean's room and shoving him roughly against the wall next to his bed and across from the rack. Dean was wide-eyed and a little panicked, although to his credit he didn't let it show. It had been a long time since he had seen Alastair. He registered the sounds of other people in the room, but his eyes were glued to Alastair's face, only inches from his own.

Dean noted with satisfaction the cut on his right cheek and the blood dripping from his nose. _Something got a few swings in_.

"Dean, long time no see." Alastair voice's stung and Dean was instantly transported to years ago when he had been on the rack. Dean swallowed and tried to get his breathing in check.

"Yeah, well after our little deal, I thought-" Dean's sentence was cut short by Alastair's fist in his diaphragm. His body tried to double over, but he was shoved right back into place.

"Quit being a smartass or that 'little deal' of ours will go away." Alastair was attempting to play it cool, but Dean could see that he was rattled.

"We had a little…situation earlier. We handled it, now you will wrap it up. Rest of the day. Get creative, Grasshopper."

Alastair backed up a few steps, so Dean could look past him. He saw a man strapped to the rack. He was dressed in all black, and some demon had already put the hood over his head. He looked…human. Dean had expected at the very least something slightly supernatural. _How the hell did a hunter get in here?_ Dean's head snapped back to Alastair, realizing he was speaking to him.

"…we put a gag on him. I expect you to make him get loud." Dean nodded brusquely, just wanting Alastair to leave and stay away.

Alastair and the other demon in the room did just that and shut the door behind them. Dean's head was spinning, but the sounds of struggling snapped him back to the present. _You won't be getting out of those anytime soon_.

Dean slowly walked across the room and picked up the knife. He remembered when he was on the rack. He could only ever smell blood and all he could think was _painpainpain_. He wasn't going back. He was going to carve this man into pieces in order to make Alastair happy. The thought made him shiver.

"I don't know who you are, but just know that I really am sorry about all of this."

Dean went to work.

To be fair, the man had held on for quite some time. He had such a high pain tolerance, that it took Dean a very long time to get a word out of him.

But Dean was good at his job. And he'd had an awful lot of practice. Ten years is plenty of time to learn exactly where and how to cut. There wasn't an inch on the man that wasn't either bloody or bruised.

Dean pressed his knife into the man's abdomen, frowning when he didn't hear anything from him. He pressed harder and twisted a little. If they hadn't gagged him, he was sure the man's screams would have echoed in the tiny room.

Dean had been slowly making his way up the guy's body. He cut away the clothes on whatever part he was working up and just kept travelling north. The man was currently wearing a pair of boxers and half a t-shirt. Dean grabbed some scissors from the cart next to the rack and cut a line in the t-shirt from his bellybutton to the neckline. He pulled it apart to reveal the man's entire chest and-

Dean's heart stopped.

He couldn't breathe. He couldn't move. His feet were frozen and everything was swimming.

His eyes were glued to a tattoo on the man's chest. An anti-possession tattoo.

The scissors fell to the ground with a loud clanging noise that shook Dean to his core.

Slowly he reached out and grabbed the edges of the black hood.

He pulled it off the man's head. _This isn't happening._

Bile was forcing its way up Dean's throat.

 _This isn't happening._

"Oh god." _This isn't happening!_

"Sammy?"


End file.
